Deception
by L. E. Wigman
Summary: In order to be a good spy, you must know how to deceive. But sometimes it gets complicated.


Disclaimer: I do not own one thing... except the plot. I own the plot! ;)

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"I hate you, Andy."

The words still stung him every time he thought of her. Heck, even when he wasn't thinking of her - the words still found their way into his conscience. He closed his eyes and took another swallow from his beaker.

He grimaced at the harsh kick. This batch of moonshine was hardly good, not like how his Grandpa Carter used to make it. It would do the trick… or it would make him go blind. At this point he wasn't sure he cared either way.

He took another swallow.

He should have told the Colonel to take a flying leap. He should have refused the assignment. Newkirk or LeBeau could have done it without a bit of hesitancy. Heck, even Olsen would have been better. He felt gross, like a real heel doing that to her.

He swirled the beaker and watched the clear liquid slosh up the sides. It was starting to take the edge off of his feelings and he could still see. He must have got the recipe right…

"Andy?"

He looked up, only instead of the dark, earthen walls of his lab, he was in the ballroom at the Hauserhof. It wasn't a particularly grand room, but the soft light and Bavarian music made it come to life. Couples, mostly farm folk, were twirling around the floor. Cheerful and happy faces greeted him. He could almost forget that there was a war on.  
His breath hitched then went double time. There she was. The light glinted off of her brown hair making the golden highlights reflect and shimmer. Her green dress which tucked into her petite frame before flaring just below her knees hardly did her justice. Her sweet face with soft, red lips parted into an inviting smile. She was pure heaven and he could do little more than stare.

"Come, Andy," she beckoned. "Dance with me."

As soon as he reached tried to touch her hand the spell was broken. The walls were grey and dark. The lab, the place where he usually found such comfort and peace suddenly felt cold and sad. He topped off the beaker and took several gulps waiting for the burning drink to bring back the vision. He'd just look this time - he wouldn't try to touch. He'd just watch her… listen to her laugh… feel the happiness radiate off of her.

 _Please... come back,_ he begged. _Please, I can explain everything. Please?_

"Oh, Andy!"

He turned his head to the right as the next vision played out before him. He'd had to tell her. He couldn't let the truth be buried. It wasn't fair; it wasn't right. If there was one thing his mom and dad had drilled into him, it was honesty and doing what was right... no matter the cost.

He'd picked her up knowing full well how the night would go. He'd hoped, of course, that she'd understand; but deep down, he knew. The moonlight on the riverbank would have been considered romantic by anyone's standards. She sat beside him on the blanket and poured out her heart - her grief to him. The loss of the most important man in her world in a cruel, senseless act.

"How could those saboteurs do it?" she asked him innocently. "How can they put bombs on trains that civilians ride? Why can't we be free from this horror?"

"Andy?" she asked, tilting her tear-streaked face up to meet his gaze.

He opened his mouth to tell her the truth. He was the saboteur. He was the reason her father was dead. He was the sole reason why her grey-blue eyes were sad and teary - why her heart was aching. He tried, Lord knows he did, but what came out was pure fiction.

He blinked and again the scene changed. Only this time he was in the tunnels. Newkirk and LeBeau had brought her in. She knew him - knew his face and would formally identify him to Hochstetter. Once he'd told her that the young man with whom she'd been stepping out was actually a member of the Underground, she'd demanded to help catch this rogue. But Papa Bear couldn't have that. No Sir! She would have to be sent to England to sit out the duration of the war.

"You lied to me."

He squirmed at the coldness in her voice and the heat of her gaze. "Please, let me explain," he found himself saying.

"You're not German," she spat. "You're American swine. You murdered my papa. Murderer!"

She launched at him; clawing for his eyes, slapping his arms and chest, screaming unintelligible words until Kinch and Newkirk managed to pull her off. As the Brit pulled her away to the underground cell, she was still screaming. "I hate you, Andy! I hate you!"

He threw the beaker against the wall as the frustration made him explode like the chemicals in his experiments. Oh, how he loved her. Lord help him, but he loved her. He buried his head into his knees and cried.

H~H

Up top was a very quiet common room. They all knew this had been coming. For the past two weeks Carter had been bottling it up, being fine in front of them. They all knew something had to give. That something just happened to be the Colonel sweet talking Hilda on the Commandant's porch.

Carter threw his litter bag and stick to Garlotti then stormed across the compound. He slammed his way into barracks two and down the ladder into the tunnel. Newkirk shared a knowing look with LeBeau, but kept dealing cards to Olsen, who wisely kept his mouth shut.

Hogan came in a few minutes later, looking around from the common table to Carter's bunk. "Where's Carter?" he asked, when he'd not found his demolitions expert. "Garlotti said something was wrong with him."

LeBeau looked up from the bread dough he was kneading vigorously. Newkirk reluctantly jutted his head toward the tunnel. When Hogan started forward, Newkirk stood. His complaint was half-way out of his mouth when LeBeau beat him to it.

"Non!"

LeBeau backed in front of the bunks that held the trap door. Hogan stopped short, surprised by his forcefulness. LeBeau met Newkirk's gaze as he lowered back into the game of cards.

"LeBeau?"

"I'm sorry, mon Colonel." He looked down at his hands and wiped the flour on his apron. He smiled sadly and said, "You would not understand, but Andre must be alone."

"And why's that?"

LeBeau didn't mince words, he gave it full bore. "He is unhappy. He is angry. Angry at you, me, her… Hitler… You name it and he is mad at it. He must have his time to grieve."

Hogan pushed his crush cap back on his head. "I know he liked her, but…"

"He did not like her, non. He loved her," LeBeau said with an air of knowledge.

Hogan stared at him for a moment. LeBeau was serious, very serious. His mind drifted back to the Dear John letter Carter had received a few months back*. He'd taken that break-up so hard that he'd asked permission to leave. No doubt about it, the kid fell in love easily and completely. He rubbed the back of his neck and acquiesced by going to his office. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps all he need was some time alone.

End.

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*Season 1, Episode 32 - 'Request Permission to Escape'

 **AN:** Here I am again writing little melodramas in the middle of the night... err, morning? Anywho, I thank you for reading and wouldn't scoff at a review :D

Cheers!


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